


Chase Me

by Stilinskis (MollyHime)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agent Derek, Agent Scott, Art Thief AU, Felon Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyHime/pseuds/Stilinskis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't care about people. I don't even care about you. I just like to play games."<br/>In which Stiles is an art thief, and Scott is a frustrated special agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skihale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skihale/gifts).



> This was written for Skihale! I absolutely loved this prompt and I really hope you enjoy it! I had a blast writing it. Special thanks to Michaela for betaing for me.

Stiles was the perfect gentleman. Her name was Lydia, and she was five foot nothing and a solid ten. Her red hair fell in perfect ringlets, framing her face. She was beautiful, and in another life, he’d have fallen for her. But not this life. As it was, he was already growing to admire her greatly. She was smart, brilliant, a genius really, and she knew it. He’d seen her in the university library, absorbed in her art history coursework. He’d watched her for weeks. It was creepy, he was well aware, but she had fascinated him. She’d work so perfectly in his plan. It had taken nearly a month to time their meeting, but in the mean time he’d stayed hidden and learned as much as he could about her.

 

It’d been a Tuesday when he finally timed it, bumping into her just as she turned, and knocking her coffee to the floor. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry! So so sorry!” He grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and handed her several before dropping to his knees to clean the mess. She stood there shocked for a long moment, before dabbing delicately at the front of her blouse, a small frown on her face. It wasn’t bad, but she’d have to wash it that night or it would probably stain. Stiles took the napkins from her and threw them out, before turning back to her, his best sad puppy face on. Her face creased with disapproval. “Please let me buy you another one. I’m really so sorry. I mean my parents always called me a bull in a china shop, and I guess I know why now.”

 

“You’re rambling,” she remarked, and Stiles stopped, staring at her with wide eyes. “But yes, you can buy me another one.” Stiles nodded, and the two of them got back in line. He let her order before he started the conversation up again.

 

“Sorry, again,” he started with a shy grin. “I’m Stiles,” he held out his hand. She stared at him for a moment, possibly questioning his sanity.

 

“Lydia,” she answered finally, shaking his hand. After that it was easy enough. He just had to use the right amount of his natural boyish charms and just a little bit of his wit and he was in. A week of listening to her talk about her favorite time periods for art, and her favorite pieces and her favorite artists and then she agreed to go out with him. He was taking her to an exhibit that was opening at a nearby museum.

 

A week later, they walked through the front doors, Lydia eagerly leading the way. Stiles was content to follow and listen to her tell him the specifics of her favorites. He payed close attention, and oohed and ahhed appropriately. If she thought it odd that he spent as much time checking out the ceilings and walls as he did the art, she didn’t say anything. Stiles was pretty sure they’d come to an understanding. She thought she was taking pity on the cute but socially awkward boy and letting him take her out. Besides, he was listening to her, not many people did that. He thought she was a wonderful cover for what he was actually trying to do.

 

As the day ended, he walked her to the train station. He’d offered to take her all the way home, but neither of them really wanted that. The day had been pleasant, but nothing else. As soon as her train disappeared in the tunnels, Stiles let the smile drop from his face and ran a hand through his hair. Acting like he cared was incredibly draining. Being nice was draining. He sighed, moving towards the exit. He had things to do, and not much time to do them.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The buzzing of his phone woke Scott. He groped for his phone, and groaned as he saw that it wasn’t even six yet. “McCall,” he croaked, as he rubbed his face, grudgingly getting out his warm bed. He sighed loudly as the person on the other end spoke. “Yeah, I’ll be there in half an hour, let me shower first.” Hanging up he cleaned up quickly.

 

Twenty minutes later he strode through the front door of the museum. It wasn’t too hard to find where he needed to be. A large group of people had gathered around, and he pushed through them to get to the front. He quickly spotted his partner, a tall, unhappy looking man. “Agent Hale,” he called, heading towards him. He pulled the other aside. “Alright Derek, fill me in, what’s going on? Reyes wasn’t very forthcoming on the phone.”

 

Derek snorted. “Is she ever?” Scott laughed and Derek led him over to stand in front of a blank space on the wall. “So yesterday, there was a painting here, and now there’s not. Obviously.” Scott frowned. He didn’t like working art case thefts, not after they’d been outsmarted in New York. “It’s a simple painting, a vase of roses, dating back to the mid 1800s,” he explained.

 

“Did you check the security cameras?”

“First thing we did. Our thief knew every blind spot. There’s no camera pointing directly at this section. We’ve got no visual on our thief, and so far no fingerprints or eye witnesses either.”

 

“Of fucking course,” Scott sighed, letting his eyes drift around the room. “There’s got to be some clue, something,” he growled. Not catching criminals didn’t look very good to his superiors, and if it happened twice in six months? Really wasn’t going to help his career. The look on Derek’s face told him he felt the same.

 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to decide what their next move should be, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The group of people had dispersed when they’d realized nothing interesting was going to happen, leaving the room nearly empty. A table with information pamphlets stood in the corner, and underneath was a vase. Scott’s eyes narrowed, and he stalked towards it, forgetting that Derek was talking to him. He was clearly hallucinating, there was no way that was there. But as he dropped to his knees to retrieve it, his mouth hung open. It was the same vase.

 

“Scott?” Derek’s voice over his shoulder brought him back to the present and he swore as he smashed his head into the table. “What is it?”

 

“Look at this Derek. Look at it real close and tell me what it is.” He handed the vase over without another word, a stony look settling on his face.

 

“What?” Derek started, but as he took a good look at the object, he cut off with a small gasp. “It can’t be. How the hell is this here?”

 

“Derek, wait, look at this.” Scott pulled a slip of paper out from the inside. Unrolling it, he stared at the words in shock. They were written in messy handwriting, and were hard to read, but he managed.

 

“I never liked this one much anyway? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Derek glowered as he read the note out loud.

 

“It means whoever broke in here is the same thief from New York.”

“We’re screwed aren’t we?”

“Looks that way.”

 

The pair let out identical sighs, before straightening up. “You go call headquarters, and I’ll see if our mystery thief left us anything else.” Derek nodded at the instructions, heading off in another direction. Scott walked slowly around the room, eyes covering everything. But there was nothing. He hadn’t really expected there to be. This was turning into New York all over again. It was the same formula. There would be a missing piece of art, and a taunt left behind by the thief. It was always just a tease, never enough to find any leads. And there was never any evidence, no hair, no fingerprints, and no footage.

 

Another sweep of the area revealed nothing further, and the two of them left. “Let’s get some coffee,” Scott suggested, and Derek agreed. They’d spend a while drowning their troubles in overpriced coffee while going over the very little they’d learned so far.

  
  


\--

Museums in California have really shitty security. It made Stiles feel a bit sad, disappointed even. It was not as much fun when there’s no challenge. He’d have to go somewhere that takes this seriously next time. He moved the ceiling panel over and dropped to the floor, falling as he landed off balance. He picked himself up, brushing the dirt off his pants and crept quietly out of the bathroom he’d been hiding in. He moved slowly, sticking to the shadows and the cameras blind spots. The security guard had passed through less than five minutes before, and he knew he’d have about an hour before he came by again. Hopefully that’d be much longer than he needed. His goal was in sight, just across the room. If not for the cameras, he’d be in and out in less than five minutes.

 

As it was, it would probably take him half an hour. He had to navigate around the outskirts of the room, and crawl under tables to stay out of sight. It was slow, but it was also his favorite part. Once he almost tripped, catching himself only at the last second. When he finally reached his target, he paused, and listened to make sure he was still alone. He was. Good.

He pulled a blade out of his pocket and began prying the frame off the wall. It didn’t come off as smoothly as he’d like, and he paused several times, checking for noises. Eventually the front of the frame popped off, and he placed it on the ground, before carefully tracing the edge of the painting with the blade, prying it loose. He rolled it up carefully, and slid it into a small poster tube he had in his bag. Capping the tube, he turned to leave, stopping at the last moment as he remembered the last part of tonight’s mission. Kneeling down, he pulled something from beneath a table. He was glad to see no one had noticed and removed it after he’d stashed it there earlier that day. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he melted back into the shadows, and moved against the walls, before scrambling out a window he’d unlocked and propped open that afternoon.

 

\--

 

Scott had suspected the phone call was coming but he was still annoyed. Today was supposed to have been his day off, but that clearly wasn’t going to be the case anymore. The thief had struck again, and he’d be spending the day searching high and low for non existent evidence instead of sleeping late and watching soccer. So, while he wasn’t happy about being dragged in at six in the morning, he did it anyway.

 

Derek greeted him with a coffee and an equally unhappy expression. “What was it this time?” Scott questioned, eyes sweeping over the area, not sure what he was searching for.

 

“Some ugly abstract painting. Perp did everyone a favor as far as I’m concerned.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Guard says it was definitely there during his first round at around midnight. He noticed it missing about an hour ago. I sent Agent Mahealani to check the security tapes, and Reyes is dusting for prints.”

 

They both sighed. “Did you find it?” Scott asked. Derek looked confused.

“Find what?” He questioned.

“Whatever they left behind this time,” Scott answered, raising an eyebrow at the interesting expression that crossed his partners face.

“Yeah, we did. It was, uh, it was personalized for you, actually.”

 

Scott paused. “What do you mean for me?”

“Maybe you should just come and look at it,” Derek suggested, and Scott followed, albeit, a bit reluctantly.

 

On a table near where the missing painting had been stolen from was an elaborate bouquet of flowers. It was gaudy and ridiculous. “Alright, but what does this have to do with me?” Scott asked, perplexed. Derek merely handed him the little card that was sitting propped up against the vase.

 

_Scotty,_

_You’re really cute when you’re frustrated._

 

Scott stared at the scrawling handwriting for several minutes. He felt Derek hovering, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the placard. How the hell did this freak know his name? How could they possibly know what he even looked like normally, let alone when he was frustrated? He looked up, eyes running over everyone in the room. They didn’t let anyone outside of the agency in while they were investigating. He was uncomfortable, and the back of his neck prickled like he was being watched.

 

“Are you alright?” Derek questioned, concerned. He nodded and threw the card back on the table, stalking away to find some way to be helpful and distract himself from the flowers. He was more determined than ever to find whoever was behind this, if only for his own peace of mind.

\--

 

The third time he woke before the sun was even out, he was not shocked. Honestly, he was expecting it. It was two weeks after the last theft, and things had begun to feel eerily calm. He’d known it wasn’t over yet, it wasn’t over until their mystery thief announced it was over. His last message had, if anything, insinuated that this was far from over. He headed into work, stopping to pick up coffee for Derek and himself. He parked his car, and as he walked towards the museum, he couldn’t help but carefully examine his surroundings. He hadn’t felt entirely secure since he’d seen the card in the flowers.

 

As usual, he saw no one suspicious. There were a few curious onlookers, curious about why the museum was closed, when it was never closed on Thursdays. Other than that, it was just the usual hustle and bustle of people going about their days.

 

Heading into the building, Scott let out a sigh. This whole situation was getting frustratingly routine. He was hoping their thief would slip up soon, but it wasn’t looking likely. A frown creased on his face as he caught sight of Derek. “What’s wrong?” he asked, handing him his coffee and clapping him on the shoulder.

 

Derek took a sip and frowned. “Three different paintings are gone. There are absolutely zero traces of this ass. There was a camera pointed almost directly at one of them and they still managed to evade us somehow. And there’s no fucking clue this time. They didn’t even give us that much.” Derek was tense, and angry. Scott didn’t blame him. He’d be the same if he didn’t feel so resigned about this entire situation. But even he couldn’t deny there was something different going on this time. He couldn’t say why but he felt like everything had escalated.

 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, and left Derek to go and look at the missing paintings. Everything was the same as last time. The front of the frames had been removed, and the painting cut out of the framing. He pulled a pair of plastic gloves on and ran his fingers over the frames, looking for anything that might have been missed, but there was nothing. It wasn’t until he moved to look at the security cameras that he noticed something. There a folded slip of paper shoved into a crevice near the bottom of the wall. He crouched down and pulled it out. Written on it, in the same handwriting from the card, was a phone number. Immediately he looked around to see if anyone else had noticed him. No one had.

 

He excused himself and escaped out a back door. He leaned against the wall and pulled his phone out. He steadied himself as he punched in the numbers. His hands shook as he put the phone to his ear. The speaker clicked as the call connected and began to ring. It rang twice before the person on the other end picked up. Scott stood silently, not knowing what to say.

 

The person on the other end let the silence linger for a few moments, their breath heavy and loud through the phone, before they finally spoke. “I was right Scotty, you’re smarter than the rest of them.  Good job.”

 

Scott jumped at the male voice saying his name. “Who are you?”

The person chuckled. “You’re so hot when you’re confused Scott. I can hear it in your voice. I know all about you. I’ve been following you since New York. Ever since the first time I saw you, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. There’s something about you.”

Scott wasn’t sure he was still breathing. He was too shocked to say anything, and stood there, trying to wrap his mind around what he’d just heard, and what it meant.

“Still there, Scotty?”

“Who are you?”

Another laugh crackled across the line. “We’ll speak later, Agent McCall.”

The line disconnected, and Scott pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to ignore the weird feeling twisting in his gut. He should tell Derek. He should tell the team and let them trace the call, let them find this creep who had been stalking him. He should let them get him and lock him up. For some reason though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

\--

 

Once they had determined there was nothing else to find at the scene, they began to clear out. Derek pulled Scott to the side. “Are you alright? You seem off today.” Genuine concern colored his voice, and Scott’s chest tugged a little. He hated lying to Derek, but he couldn’t get himself to tell Derek what had happened on the phone.

 

“I’m fine. This case is just wearing me out. I think I’m just gonna go home and catch up on some sleep. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, alright?” They said their goodbyes, and Scott headed to his car. Locking the doors, he sat for several minutes, unsure of what he really did want to do now. He’d begun to zone out when his phone buzzed in his lap. Shocked, he pulled up the message.

 

_Glen Capri Motel, 306, 9PM._

 

Scott tossed the phone into the passenger’s seat, away from himself. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove. He wasn’t going to go. He was going to tell Derek, and they’d tackle it as a team. Even as he tried to force himself to think that, he knew that he wouldn’t. He was going to go. This was his mystery. This guy was after him, not anyone else. He could be walking into a trap. This guy could want him dead.

 

When he got home he took a shower that felt hot enough to melt his skin off. He had a little over three hours before he was supposed to be there. It took him half an hour to get out of the shower, and another half an hour to dry off and get dressed. He didn’t know why he cared so much about his outfit, but eventually he settled on dark jeans, and a white t-shirt with a plaid button up layered over top of it. He wasn’t going as Agent McCall, not entirely anyway. He told himself he was going undercover. He laid his gun and handcuffs out to grab on his way out. He ate dinner and mindlessly watched TV until it was time to leave.

 

The Glen Capri was a crappy motel on the edges of the city, but it only took Scott ten minutes to get there. He sat in the parking lot, staring at the door to the room he was supposed to go to. His heart rate skyrocketed as he climbed the steps and his hand quaked as he reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. The door swung open to reveal a brightly lit hotel room. Scott stepped in, running his fingers against his pocket, making sure his handcuffs were there. He’d made the decision to leave his gun in the car. He closed the door quietly behind in and stepped fully into the room.

 

At the table in the corner sat a man. Scott swallowed hard, taking in the sight of pale skin and moles. He couldn’t stop staring at the curve of his nose, the pout of his lip. The man looked up, and smiled. Scott couldn’t stop the curl of attraction that settled low in his stomach.

 

“Scotty, so glad you could make it. Please, come and sit.”

Scott’s feet moved forward without his permission. He slid into the seat on the other side of the table. “Who are you?” he asked for the third time that day.

The other man smirked. “Is that the only thing you know how to say? I’m Stiles.”

“Is that your real name?” Scott asked, suspicious.

“Of course it isn’t. But that’s not the point. You wouldn’t be able to track me, even with my full name.”

Scott didn’t argue. He’d had no luck tracking him thus far. He didn’t doubt that this man, Stiles, could outmaneuver him again and again. “Why did you do it?” he asked instead.

Stiles chuckled. “I get bored easily, and I like to play games. And who better to play games with than people? I’ll admit, I don’t actually care about anyone. That’s what makes this so fun. Toying with people is my favorite past time.”

Scott paled slightly, the weird speech a reminder of the dangerous situation he was potentially putting himself into. “If you don’t care about people, then why the interest in me?” he questioned.

 

Stiles nodded, like he’d been expecting the question. “I don’t care about people. I don’t even really care about you. I do, however, find you aesthetically pleasing, and really quite adorable. Originally this game had nothing to do with you. Until I saw you after my first round in New York, that is. What I’m trying to say, Scotty, is that you caught my attention and I merely altered my game a little.”

 

Scott was quiet for a moment as he tried to process the new information. He wracked his brain, looking for a memory of this strange man, but there was none. “So, what do you want from me?” His mind had already come up with a guess, and he tried not to think about the way his dick jerked.

 

It was like Stiles could read his mind. “I think you know exactly what I want.” Stiles rose, and he was taller than Scott. He walked around the table, hovering over him, before sliding into his lap. Electricity crackled between them, and there was nothing sweet about the way their lips clashed together. It was rough and hard and full of teeth. Stiles tugged on his hair and bit at his lips. Scott gripped his hips and they rose, Stiles wrapped his legs tight around Scott’s waist, and together they crashed onto the bed, Scott on top of Stiles. Stiles bucked up, rubbing himself against Scott and Scott ground down against him. Scott sucked a hickey into Stiles neck, and Stiles tugged at his hair, his beautiful mouth making breathy moans.

 

It wasn’t until they’d both come, shaking and moaning through their releases, that Stiles realized that he couldn’t move his hands. His hands were locked to the headboard with Scott’s silver cuffs. “What the fuck?” He jerked his hands, but it was no use, the cuffs held strong.

 

Scott sat up, still straddling Stiles waist. “You’re not the only one who can play games, Stiles,” he said, a cheeky grin on his face. Stiles glared at him. He climbed off the other man. “I’m going to clean up, and then I’m calling my partner and your little game is going to be over.

 

Stiles just smiled at him. “It’s been an honor playing with you Scotty.”

 

Scott stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to make it look like he hadn’t just been getting off with a felon. When he finally got his hair to lie mostly flat, he left the bathroom. He stopped dead when he reentered the room. Stiles was nowhere to be seen. Where he should have been on the bed, was a postcard. He picked up the postcard and laughed. There was a picture of the Mona Lisa with a sharpie mustache drawn on. On the backside two words were written in Stiles sprawling handwriting.

 

 _Chase me_.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, come find me on tumblr!   
> http://dylanwoahbrien.tumblr.com


End file.
